The heat is on

I came home for lunch and saw that Bob "There's no "I" in team, but I've never cared much for sports" TV had barely put a dent in packing. As I prepared my lunch, I asked Rich if Kreg had been able to get into the room. Not really, he told me, Bob TV's stuff was still all over the place. I noticed Kreg's new bed leaning against the wall in the dining room. It was apparent that he hadn't been able to take advantage of the free setup Jordan's offered because of Bob TV's laziness. More importantly, he had to hold off putting his stuff in his room, a room that was supposed to have been emptied out and cleaned that morning. To say the least, I was not pleased.

As I inspected the dining room, Bob TV walked through. I stood there shaking my head in disbelief. "Oh, Bob," I said. "This isn't good. Your stuff is still everywhere."

"Hey, man, I know I fucked up. There's nothing I can do to change that. I'm doing the best I can. Don't worry about it."

The frustration and mounting anger that I had previously been able to keep in check, broke through my defenses and launched forth. " I am going to worry about it, if you don't mind. Until I see your stuff out of the house with my own eyes, I'm going to worry about it. This is ridiculous! It's midday and Kreg has to wait for you to finish packing before he can move his stuff in."

Bob "Give me an inch and I'll take twelve miles" TV became animated and started to yell. "What do you want from me? Nagging me to get my shit out of here isn't going change anything!"

"First of all, I wasn't nagging you; I was making an observation. But, yes, I want your shit out of here".

"If you just SHUT UP ABOUT IT, I can get back to work. So SHUT UP! Okay?"

The floodgates were open. The somewhat level speaking voice I had maintained up to that point had disappeared into the memory bank and was replaced by something bestial and loud. " I will not shut up, you fucking prick, because you need a spark under your ass! Until every last item you own is out of my house, I will nag you as often as I like. Okay? "

Bob became even more animated, wandering into tantrum territory, where brisk pacing and spastic arm-waving are common place. After engaging in both actions, he made a dramatic beeline towards me. "My stuff will be out of here when it's out of here. Don't like that? Well, what are you going to do about it? WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?"

He was baiting me, I knew. He was challenging me to take the exchange to a new level. The beast that had arisen within me was about to strike the fuck in the jaw--oh, that pompous prick was so close, practically begging for it-- but was overruled by the rational part of me that had previously been dormant. At the time, I was pissed at my "weak" response, which was, in a nut shell, "Nothing, Bob. I guess I'll there's nothing I can do. Maybe I'll just have to throw your junk onto the curb". Later, in hindsight, I'm glad that matters weren't taken to the physical level; not because I was afraid of him--that malnourished man-child couldn't threaten a four year old--but because I wanted to take the high road for as long as I could.

"You'd be doing me a favor", he said. He was right, I would be doing him a favor. He had me there.

" You really don't give a shit, do you?"

"No, I don't. I don't give a shit. So why don't you just shut up and let me pack."

"When I get home from work, you better be done packing, you selfish prick!"

With that, I went back to work. Throughout the rest of the day I hoped that he would be gone by the time I got home. The hope wasn't born from a desire to avoid another confrontation with Bob TV; I just wanted to come home and see that Kreg was moved in without too much fuss, the earlier turmoil of the day out of harm's way and buried deep in the annals of the past. Bob TV, the egocentric pig, would see to it that my hope wouldn't amount to anything more than that.